


Low Tide

by The_Tragedian



Category: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Cemetery, Death, Emotional Hurt, Flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 02:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16777990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Tragedian/pseuds/The_Tragedian
Summary: Spongebob Squarepants meets up with an old friend. They chat, briefly.





	Low Tide

Spongebob stood in front of that headstone for a long, long time.

There had been tears at first, and they had felt so slick and warm as they squeezed out of his eyes. There was nobody to impress here, nobody to show off to, nobody to convince he was tough. Somehow he stayed upright, but part of him wanted to collapse into a ball, cover his face with his hands, and sob. There was no justice in it, no reason. By the time he raised his head and traced the intricate carvings on the headstone, his face felt like it was on fire. Each breath stank of salty tears and his unique sad smell. He felt like he was drowning.

That was then. That was a moment of weakness, and while part of him liked indulging himself in the raw emotion, he had things to do. As callous as it seemed, he had to move on. Sponge still stood in front of that headstone.

“Hey.” His voice was groggy and raw. He was surprised he could even form words at all. “It’s...it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Sponge rested his hand on the headstone. The smooth granite felt cold under his finger, sacred. He let his hand fall; in a naive, childish way, he was hoping that touching the damned thing would give him some of _that_ feeling again. Yeah, it was a stupid thought. Sponge’s eyes floated to the ground, where granite met sand.

“I wanted Patrick to come, but...well, he’s got his own way of doing things,” Sponge said, weakly rolling his eyes, “and, well, who am I to stop him? I think...I think forcing him to come would’ve messed him up more. Don’t worry, though. I’ll get him to come see you at some—”

A choked sob shot Sponge’s sentence dead in his throat. He swallowed and fought back more tears. Part of him wanted to keep crying, most of him didn’t. Squidward might’ve even laughed had he seen his porous neighbour then. Spongebob Squarepants, his “best friend”, all cried out. Not a tear left.

“S-sorry. It’s...” Sponge blinked and looked up at the sky. It might rain, he thought, and found it fitting. The dull greyness of the clouds hurt his eyes. “It’s just so weird to think that you’re d- _dead_.

“You...oh gosh, what do I say? You were my everything—you-you still _are_ , if that makes any sense. I think it does, and if you were here, I think you would, too.” Sponge wiped his nose and held up a small bound fasces of flowers of all colours. It was the brightest thing for miles. “My mom helped me pick these. She’s a nice lady...I’m...I’m sure you knew that, too,” he laughed morosely. The fist with the flowers in it fell to his side.

“I’m sorry that I don’t have anything terrifically _nice_ to say, here. As I said already, it’s so...so unreal that this went and...” Sponge shut his eyes— _tight_ —and sighed. His voice sounded like he was pinching the end of his nose. “Dear Neptune, how could you be dead?”

A low gust of wind sauntered past Sponge, catching his tie. They were alone, he and the headstone. All alone. The headstone was put up far, far away from the other headstones—miles from the cemetery, or Bikini Bottom for that matter. Sponge didn’t know who did it, but he woke up this morning with a terrible, clawing feeling in his heart of hearts. He didn’t know who put this headstone here, but he knew why it was there.

“You were...my inspiration. My...lifeline. I don’t like to admit that I don’t know what I’m doing _all_ of the time. You helped me get past that. Heh, I remember when you called me ‘Boy’! Those were good times. Back then, thing were...they were simpler”—Sponge put his hand on the top of the headstone, again—“weren’t they?”

The headstone didn’t reply.

“You got me my job at the Krusty Krab. I’ve met so many amazing people here in Bikini Bottom thanks to you. It was like being a kid, back in Kindergarten, when I didn’t have to pay bills or take boating tests or pum...life weights. Bikini Bottom brought me back to a simpler time, and I only have _you_ to thank for that.”

Sponge leaned down and rested the frilly bushel of blue, yellow, red, and pink down in front of the headstone. He moved with the care and precision of a painter, or a surgeon. He felt his eyes water again, but he was still dry. He clasped his hands in front of him. “I’ll never forget you. I hope the others know—if they come—that you’re in a better place. You can’t be worried, or scared, or tired, or sick anymore. You’re up there,” Sponge said, throwing his skinny arms up at the floral sky, “with Mermaid Man, and that [bubble me and Patrick blew that time!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhCtcsz31SI)

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I can’t blame you, and I don’t. Plankton and Sandy might take it even harder than me, if you can believe it. They...they might think they could’a stopped whatever had you so sick.” The sand around Sponge’s shoe shifted; he realized he had moved it slightly. “But what do I know? I’m just a byproduct of your genius. They’ll say I redefined _this_ or gave us _that_ , but what that really is, is them saying, ‘we love you!’ and ‘we wish you were here!’ and, and ‘we’ll never forget you!’...”

Sponge put his hands in his pockets. It took him more than one try since they were shaking. He felt a fresh tear inching down his cheek, and he smiled his broken piano smile in spite of it. “I think I’ll stick around for a little longer. But I don’t think it’ll be too long. When that happens, we’ll meet up. Go see what Johnny B, or Dexter, or Tommy, Chuckie, and the gang are doing.” He sniffed. The wind stabbed at him through his shirt like a driven nail. “But before I go, and leave you for the last time, I want to say thank you.

“Thank you so, _so_ much for giving me all of this, all of those years when I was younger, playing around with Patrick and the rest of ‘em. You were behind me, being a comforting sort of push forward into the world, and even though I’m older now, what you’ve done for me will linger for as long as I’m still kicking around.”

Sponge stepped back from the headstone. The clouds had parted, and far off on that distant, wavy horizon, the sun was setting amidst a beautiful menagerie of floral clouds. The requiem of under the sea.

“Thanks for giving me my childhood Stephen. I’ll see you again, someday.”

Spongebob Squarepants stood at that headstone for a long, long time. But now, he had nothing left to say, and no reason to stand anymore.

He turned around, rubbed his shoulders, and started off for home, his shined black shoes squeaking with each step. Just as the sun was setting, he turned his head back and smiled at the stone slab. In the dying light, he could still make out those engraved letters.

REST IN PEACE

STEPHEN MCDANNELL HILLENBURG

21-08-1961—26-11-2018

CARTOON VOICE OF A GENERATION, HONORARY KNUCKLEHEAD MCSPAZATRON,

AND FATHER TO A SPONGE

WHO LIVED IN A PINEAPPLE

UNDER THE SEA

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Stephen McDannell Hillenburg, "bank geek", marine biologist, animator, and creator of my childhood. Rest in peace.


End file.
